


Moderna

by Profligate1945



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Airships, Aristocracy, Class Differences, Dieselpunk, F/M, Imperialism, Intrigue, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Profligate1945/pseuds/Profligate1945
Summary: The Empire of the Northern and Western land formerly known as Europa is debuting it's new, experimental floating command centre, the airship Moderna. Edward Halfpenny, a handservant to the Duchess in charge of the ship, recounts his tale of the strange and terrible things he experiences.
Kudos: 5





	1. Boarding.

"It was resolved that the Empire's destiny lay not only in land and sea, but in air. God and man decreed it, and so it was."  
\- Mortimer Cranniven, Archpriest of the Church of the Empire. 

The great airship Moderna came into view, navigating the corridors between the high rising buildings with the grace only a trained pilot could produce. At the helm was one of the course's first graduates. The increasing scale and complexity of these great diesel consuming beasts required ever greater tutoring in each of their functions. Engineers, stewards, and pilots alike would each require three years training to be licensed to serve upon them. But the prestige of working upon it was seen as worth it. These titans of industry, great steers of the modern world that demanded every ounce of skill and concentration from it's 200 component staffers to keep it as smooth and comfortable for it's guests and commanders as possible. 

They were 100 million pounds apiece to produce, an exorbitant sum. Each one took around slightly longer to produce than the great ironclads of the seas. I knew all this from the officer I was posted with previously. He was a man with a great passion for logistics and equipment, and he intended to share that with his servants. It was a source of pride, the size and cost and scope of each of our Empire's greatest creations. And it was this pride that got me my current post. One of five handservants to the Duchess Markelia, who would be the first to live upon an airship. 

Stops for food and water would be necessary, but biodiesel would be grown in cycles in a special deck of the Moderna. Eventually, we were assured, those "problems" would be sorted. Future models would be even bigger, even more ambitious, and they would take care of these issues. This was merely the prototype for a flying command centre. Civilian in make and model, but most likely the only one to be so. There were some objections, only naturally. Some more progressive members of the Imperial chambers stated that it was wasteful to spend quite so much, given the already precarious state of the Empire's coffers, and the meaning it could have for the lower classes. Other more superstitious members said it was unnatural for humans to spend so long off the ground. It would set us asked, without the rule of nature or law to keep us in line. But nevertheless, the project pressed on. 

Duchess Markelia was allowed the role for a number of reasons. For one, she actually wanted it. Few wanted to abandon the comfort of their manor homes for an assumedly inconsistent, uncomfortable, and annoying experience with no set end date. She took on the interruption to every day life as a welcome reprieve from running her uneventful household and occasionally voting in chamber affairs. Secondly, it got her out of the way. Her husband died at a rather inopportune time. The chamber works finest when unified despite ideological differences. Blocs may agree to the same proposal for different reasons. But if you wanted a guaranteed dissenter, Markelia is there ready and waiting. Already a reviled woman, her contrarian views only heightened her unpopularity. And now here I was, one of five handservants. 

Sold into servitude in youth by destitute parents. It often said of us that we had a better chance of finding our fathers by throwing a stone into a crowd than by any organised search efforts. Demeaning, yet not necessarily inaccurate. Still, to rise to such high position is very lucrative. 

I would like to take an aside to explain just why I include so much explaining in the telling of my life's story. This is not a tale meant to be related to the high members of society that know every detail. This is for regular people. A reprieve during darker times, which are sure to come. 

We were lined, twenty of us in three rows, in a room aside from the rows of engineers and stewards hand picked for this assignment. The Duchess was to leave her older handservants at her estate, taking new ones onto the Moderna. She picked me, a lad of 17, Stormond, a great big man of 19 who was fit for heavy lifting. Later she picked wiry twins, named John and James. Simple names for complex lads. Neither breached five feet tall, despite being 22 years on this earth. A dreadful symptom of the more recent changes in people we've been seeing, mostly the lower classes. Lastly, a boy of 14 with an astounding head for navigation. He was brought on more for his learning than her service, which both surprised the rest of us and informed us on her way of being. 

I was basic. Best as an all round servant to make food and drink, and fetch things. Stormond was useful for heavy lifting, as well as for aiding me and the twins. The twins were useful for tight spaces, very apt for the great industrial marvel we were to serve upon. Lastly, the clear utilitarian role of preparing the boy for future service. All showed that she understood what was needed, with no consideration for whether or not we would enjoy such work. We were tools for use in this great, experimental machine progress. It was new to each of us, yet exciting. 

We were trooped out to where we now stand, at the air dock watching the Moderna approach. Five lined behind Duchess Markelia, who was yet to say a direct word to any of us. None of us dared break the silence, for we didn't know what sort of a master she would be yet. A joke crossed my mind, but it was best suited to my posting before last. Expression of adoration best suited to my last posting. And vice versa. This, however, had no defined time limit. We were upon this airship until dismissed. And then, in defiance of God and man, she docked. 

It began with a great groaning, as structures swung out to allow access to the personal and cargo entrances. Then, the great bustle as it docked proper, with tubes for fuel, water, and the like were extended to have her filled for the great embarkment, as some had taken to calling it. Others had more cynical minds, preferring to call it the great embarrassment. Either way, it was to go forward. The Duchess spoke to us for the first time. 

"I have much to discuss with the five of you. That will wait until we are within. Until then, merely follow me." 

Obedient, we nodded as one to communicate our understanding. She strode along the walkway, each of us following single file like soldiers, and we entered the great beast, Moderna.


	2. The Launch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The five handservants of the Duchess board, and are assigned their roles to get familiar with as the Moderna launches.

"For in prosperity a man is often puffed up with pride, whereas tribulations chasten and humble him through suffering and sorrow. In the midst of prosperity the mind is elated, and in prosperity a man forgets himself; in hardship he is forced to reflect on himself, even though he be unwilling. In prosperity a man often destroys the good he has done; amidst difficulties he often repairs what he long since did in the way of wickedness." 

-Alfred the Great, King of England 

What struck me first was the sheer eloquence of what most referred to as 'the lobby.' A place clearly meant as a combination of welcome port, guest room, and meeting area for those needing to speak to people aboard the ship while at port. Men and women of varying position filed past us, although none dared get too close. It was suicide to bother a handservant when we were about to begin this... thing. By this point, I had lost the words to describe it. Endeavour made it seem like a journey, but we had no destination. Mission made it seem guided by some earthly tether, yet it was open ended and unbound by the restrictions of land or sea. Experiment fit best, but that yet still did not convey the sheer magnitude of the undertaking. This was no piddling test tube or rat cage, with scientists studying it and marking every change down. This would reshape travel, living, and warfare all in one stroke were it to go well. 

The feeling of Stormond bumping into me and swearing under his breath interrupted my thoughts as the Duchess began to move again, prompting me to follow suit. Fool that I was, drifting off about the future when I had duties in the now. We were lead to what was clearly a study of some form, assumedly hers. There, she lined us up and spoke to us in turn. 

"Stormond Terus. You'll be following Head Engineer Barnabas. Act as my... envoy of sorts to his area of expertise. You have the build and hands of one of those. Speak with my voice and act with my actions, I'm sure you know that process." 

Stormond nodded, giving a curt "Yes, m'lady." before he left for his position, expected to begin at once. 

She continued: "John and James of Strathclyde, you will be serving in the lower decks. God knows that they'll need the help down there. Please try not to lose limbs, we have no prosthetics aboard." 

They would nod also, walking off while whispering to each other in a brisk, unnerving way. If I didn't have proof they talked, I'd have sworn that they read each other's thoughts. As this thought consumed me, she sent the boy, who I now found out was named Martin, to serve the Head Pilot and Navigator, evidently as a form of apprenticeship. Then she turned to me, and I had an inkling of what she had in mind. 

"Edward Halfpenny, you will serve as personal steward to me. You will collect reports from the other four and do as I say. Bring me food, drinks, and provide opinions." 

I nodded curtly and responded. "Yes, m'lady. Do I... have a particular station?" 

"This study is your station, along with the bedroom next to mine and the kitchens. I expect that you will work as hard as you can, considering that this is by common opinion the easiest position to serve in." 

Her directness already made me feel uneasy. Was this an elaborate ploy to coax insubordination out of us? None of us actually knew what she was like. A rich widow was never something predictable in the Empire, especially not one of her standard. My thoughts were interrupted for the umpteenth time today as she spoke again. 

"It's time for the launch. I'm sure you know what to do. Fetch an unopened bottle of champagne." 

I nodded and left, fetching it and heading for the main observation deck. The head of each deck was present, as well as assorted passengers and servants. It was a classic tradition on waterships, we would tie a rope to the bottle and throw it off the side, at which point it would shatter against the side of the craft. The rope indeed was brought to me, and I handed both it and the bottle to the Duchess. 

"I declare the maiden launch of the Moderna, the first self sufficient airship in the world both known and unknown, underway." 

She threw the bottle over the side, rope spoiling after it. Its fall was cut short by the rope, and it swung at speed toward the side of the Moderna. A great noise was heard, but not one of glass smashing. The bottle hadn't broken, and immediately murmurs started among those assembled. It was a bad omen, doubly so for a new conceptual voyage like this. The more superstitious folk seemed to want off altogether. The Duchess, however, shrugged it off and proceeded to pull it back up, with remarkable technique. 

"Oh well. Back to your stations, gentlemen. We must set off at once, bottles be damned!" 

They all separated, again leaving me and her on deck as the ship lurched, groaned, and pulled away from the great sky port it was moored to. The flight of the Moderna had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will very much be writing more, I'm having great fun so far. I have a place I'm taking this, it's not all to be dreary exposition. I'm very open to criticism too, please tell me anything I could do better.


	3. Gaining Confidence.

"Great things are achieved only when we take great risks." 

\- Frederick the Great, King of Prussia 

Once the ship was underway and clearly pulling away from the dock, I felt my stomach lurch. There was nothing between me and the ground but an experimental biodiesel engine. I began to understand the concerns of the more superstitious among the crew, albeit for different reasons. The fact that many of these people, including the Duchess herself, chose to go on this voyage? It was inconceivable. What madman chooses to do such a thing? I was reminded of my learnings of history under my previous posting, of men who only rose to great heights due to great risks. The first Emperor was one of them. 

I straightened myself out and prepared for my tenure as handservant on this ship. If I am to die on something like this, may as well try my best to earn myself a nice grave. The communications boys had direct wireless telegram and radio contact with the sky dock, anyway. The Duchess, noticing my readiness, turned to give orders. 

"Edward, could you make tea and have it brought to my study? I require a drink and some time to prepare myself for this... cramped and foul smelling voyage. No matter the opulence, this is a rigid airship. I'm sure you know what that means." 

She referred to the lingering smell of diesel in the air, and the sheer amount of machinery required to keep it in the air. It's a marvel of engineering, and a certain point of pride that we have come so far from rudimentary balloons and propeller reliant aeroplanes. But still, the sounds drive some mad, and only a few decks can feel like actual rooms and corridors as opposed to the guts of an ironclad. Due to the extra decks requisitioned for the growing of soya and such other crops that are used for biodiesel, we only had the pilot deck, cabin deck, and observation deck free. 

All this went through my head as I hurried to the kitchens, setting the kettle on. I set the teabag in the cup as I realised something that made my stomach sink. I had forgotten to ask how she liked it! I didn't yet know how she was, but I wasn't ready to stake my chances on whether she beats servants over her tea or not. I resolved to set everything possible on a tray. The tea itself, milk, honey, the ever precious sugar, and the far more common factory made sweetener. All that plus the cups and the heavy tray was a bit much, considering I'm hardly imposing. I was a victim of the 'Great Shortening' that affected many lower class families. Average height dropped by about 3 or 4 inches over the span of a few generations due to malnutrition. 

Stumbling out from the kitchen, I hurried as fast as I could without losing balance to her study, sliding the door open with a foot. 

"M'lady, ten pardons, but I had forgotten to ask how you liked it, so I brought everything we had for tea. A hundred pardons, even. I meant only to serve you quickly, no affront was intended." 

I set the tray on her desk to a look of confusion. It became something between that and amusement before she started laughing, and rather hearty laughing at that. My worry really must have shown, as she responded thusly after her brief fit. 

"You really were quite worried, weren't you? I'm sorry, I try to appear detached in public. It helps to enhance my... particular image. You needn't worry about such things, Edward, but I do like it with two spoons of sugar, no milk. You shan't be beaten here. I'm using this as an opportunity to... loosen my corset, to borrow phrasing from my niece." 

My relief could have been cut with a butter knife, if we actually used milk for butter anymore. I nodded my gratitude and mumbled my understanding to her, thankful that this at least was a chance to relax instead of yet more pressure put upon me. Once that was cleared, she had me speak to her about my thoughts on the ship. It's function, it's size, and how well I thought it might fare. I found myself relaxing yet more, even enjoying the conversation with her about it, free of the dreaded Finest that would report us for some of the things we said in that study. In fact, I realised that none of the Finest may be on the ship. The Empire disliked political ideologies poisoning technological advancement, and so we were entitled to speak freely in public as well as in private. 

The next week or so was very enjoyable. I served the Duchess at her leisure and checked up on my fellow handservants in their positions. Stormond was enjoying himself in Engineering, clearly in his element. I also noticed, from his longing glances at others as they worked on a lower valve, that he was homosexual. Common enough among handservants, but frankly not for me. I wished him all the best in his efforts and reluctantly checked up on the twins. They told me that all was well in the lower decks, being clingy as to the specifics. I didn't care to investigate, either - they gave me the creeps. Lastly was the boy, Martin. He had a very good head for navigation, as it seemed. I decided to put in a word with the Duchess, see if she would let him go on to the academy rather than languish as a handservant. He also let me see the transcripts of radio communications. It generally was routine, talking of the ship being in the same condition as when she left, and that everything was on schedule. 

Overall, a very enjoyable week. It allowed me to clear my head and finally pay attention to my tasks. It was only a week, however, as things would soon drastically change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ik this is like my third chapter today but I'm enjoying it. I'll update this as I feel like, but I'll try to keep it semi consistent. Also, ik a lot of this seems vague, and that's because I'm a fan of show don't tell. I intend for things Edward refers to in the story to be explained in time. But the Finest is basically a quasi secret police. And I promise things progress meaningfully next chapter.


	4. Disaster and Denial.

"Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them." 

\- Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of Rome. 

I would often find myself woken in the middle of the night. The engines required constant maintenance and surveillance, and so the ship never fell silent. The hum of the engines and the ever so faint voices of engineers would perpetually bleed through the walls, disturbing my sleep. On these nights, I would go to the observation deck to watch the night sky and relax myself. By now we were well clear of the thick build and overbearing atmosphere of the city, and now could enjoy what wilderness there was. The stars were often seen as a privilege rather than a right nowadays, as anyone who wanted a chance at a living would flock to the cities in droves to find employment. 

I was relaxing against a railing and considering getting myself a cup of tea when I heard much clearer, closer voices behind me. A pair of men came out, arguing in hushed yet wholly audible tones about the soya crop. 

"... believe that you would be so moronic! That's our one source of fuel, and you fucking ruined a half of it!" 

"How was I to know that following procedure like that would cause flooding? We were never told!" 

"Well, as far as the rest of us are concerned, we were told, so you had better come up with a good explanation to give to the boys down in radio, or we are thoroughly fucked! God forbid Barnabas finds out!" 

"Right, right... I'll... work on it, I suppose..." 

The two separated, and I was left with that entirely terrifying piece of news, one of three on the ship of 400 that knew. A half of the crop had been ruined, reducing our fuel production accordingly and requiring a humiliating request for either reserves of fuel or simply calling the whole thing off. I decided to walk down to communications and tell them myself, not trusting the honesty of the Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee of His Majesty's Airship Moderna. Rather than going through the ship, I swung a leg over the railing and decided to take the external ladder to the navigation deck. The heights would paralyze many, but the urgency of my task had me putting that aside on the grounds that I may die soon anyway if this whole thing doesn't work out. There is nothing like unrestrained pessimism to coax yourself into doing dangerous things. 

Arriving at the deck in question, I slid open a larger window and clambered in, much to the cheers of the night crew inside. One of them approached as I shut it, Acting Head Navigator while the Head was asleep. 

"What's the occasion? War with the South?" 

"No, I came down cause I heard some talk from the stewards in charge of the crop. Half of it was swamped, so we'll need to radio both back and forward to make headquarters aware of our situation and let the forward base know we'll need more than food when we get there." 

Groans went up from the assembled crew. The navigators were a jolly bunch, enjoying their work and the comradeship that came with it. I spied Martin over with the radio lads, so I hurried on over there and quickly repeated myself for their benefit. I listened intently to the ensuing conversation. 

"Headquarters, this is Moderna, stop. Half of soya crop is swamped, requiring urgent reserves prepared, stop." 

Nothing but static was heard from the other end. 

"Headquarters, Moderna calling. Moderna calling. Urgent message, requiring immediate attention." 

Yet more static, gaining a menacing air the longer it went on. 

"Headquarters, Moderna calling. Respond at once, this is a serious problem requiring the immediate cooperation of yourselves and the forward base of Brighton!" 

The ensuing silence was deafening. The radio operator's face dropped as he realised that no response was coming. He proceeded to radio ahead to Brighton Skyport to try to get them to contact Headquarters, but he was only met with a similar level of static. A quiet calmness underlined with a deep unease spread throughout the room, permeating each and every one of us. We knew that the bureaucracy was slow at the worst of times, but for both ports to outright ignore urgent hailing about a serious issue was entirely different. Either our radio wasn't working or there was no one at the other end. I resolved to raise my voice and propose something. 

"Erm... shall I go and wake the Duchess?" 

I was immediately met with resounding dissatisfaction with that idea. Like children struggling to fix a problem before their parents found out, they were adamant that waking her for something like this was the last thing on the agenda. 

And so we sat there for upwards of an hour, occasionally throwing theories as to why or methods as to how. Perhaps, some reasoned, it was not that bad. Perhaps the crops are salvageable and there is simply something wrong with the transmitter. This theory gained ground, and eventually the majority agreed on a cause and on a method of fixing it. I, being already known to climb, would scale the side of the ship and inspect the transmitter at the top, fixing whatever had gone wrong. I would be given a portable wireless telegraph device to use for updates on my progress, which I hung from my belt. I also had a length of rope tied around my waist, intended to stop me from falling to my death should I lose my grip. All this, we reasoned, would be enough. And so I approached the window again, this time to scale the height of the Moderna.


	5. The Climb.

"The most dangerous thing in the world is to try to leap a chasm in two jumps." 

\- David Lloyd George, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. 

In a few short seconds, I found myself clinging to the external ladder again, beside the window. Martin leaned out to shout to me. 

"Best of luck, Edward. Erm... we'll try to catch you if you fall." 

The addition of 'try' didn't fill me with confidence, but I nodded my acknowledgment and began to climb. It was around 3 in the morning by now, and bitterly cold out. Being in a handservant's domestic uniform with a belt surely didn't help matters, and I felt my hands going numb only a couple dozen rungs in. I kept my chin to my chest and my ears between my arms as best I could and suffered my way to the observation deck. The climb up was more difficult than the climb down, and my arms were screaming by the time I reached it. I climbed over the railing and deflated, proud of myself. 

At least, I was proud until I realised I was only a fifth of the way up. The rest of the Moderna loomed above threateningly, a taunt to my lack of athleticism. 'How dare this small man try to climb me,' it seemed to say. 'Does he not know his place?' I was surely losing it up here, probably from the diesel fumes, but it did the job and motivated me to keep going. I climbed upon some boxes, then got a foothold on a rain blocking overhang that let me start my journey up the majority of the ship's side. It was an unbroken climb up to a flat part of the bodywork near the top, then simply scaling the thin part to where the transmitter was. I didn't know all the terminology for it, but the path was easy enough. 

The further I climbed, the more I was reminded that it would be so much easier to just pull more of the rope up and say it was broken. It would probably end in worse circumstances than actually going up there, but it was so cold out and I was so tired that it had a certain selfish appeal to it. However, the vile creation of God that people call a conscience drove me further upward regardless. I would catch cold, or frostbite, or whatever a bird decided to defecate onto me, but I wouldn't betray the lads down in navigation like that. So onward I went. I at least got away from the overbearing smell of diesel and the fumes produced by the engines, which cleared my mind somewhat. The exercise purified me better than any clergyman or confession could. In fact, I had been feeling better overall since I got onto the ship. It was inexplicable, difficult to explain. Perhaps it was just my imagination, or the air did me good. 

After roughly 30 minutes in total, I reached that flat part. Only a short climb up to the radio transmitter, and then I could say what went wrong and climb down. I looked up, unable to see the silhouette properly in the dark, but it seemed alright. A five minute rest to stop my arms and legs from screaming at me and to make my fingers start to feel again lead to my scaling the final part, about ready to smash the bloody thing in myself. My rage was irrational, but it was a good motivator once directed to my task. Upon reaching the top, I realised a massive detail that every single one of us had collectively forgotten. I was given no light. There were obviously no matches or candles, it was a diesel airship for Heaven's sake. But I was sure there had been portable electric lights on board. 

I was still for a moment in my despair. I had just climbed the majority of the largest airship hitherto made by mankind, only to have it be all for nought and have to climb back down in shame. No, I couldn't bear that. I was ready to consider just blindly feeling around until I noticed that my portable telegraph had a small light on it. When turned on, that light would illuminate whenever I pressed down on the needle. As such, I rapidly switched it on and kept the needle jammed down. An unbroken tone came from it as I hoisted it from my belt to the transmitter, allowing me to get a proper, if dim, look. 

Surely enough, it was broken. What was essentially a glorified electrical antenna had to go and break. It wasn't a simple fix, either. The piece was missing, assumedly having broken off at some point in the night and fallen down to the countryside below. I quickly relayed my findings. 

"SORRY FOR DEAD TONE STOP. VITAL PIECE MISSING FROM TRANSMITTER STOP. DAMAGE POTENTIALLY IRREPARABLE STOP." 

Soon, the response came. 

"BUGGER ME BLIND STOP. COME BACK DOWN BEFORE YOU FREEZE STOP. WE NEED TO THINK UP A PLAN STOP." 

His obvious eloquence had me coming back down pretty fast. I just looped the rope as best I could around the top and attempted to scale down like the mountain climbers I was often told about. Thankfully the rope neither broke nor came loose, and I returned sooner than expected to cheers, a blanket, and a cup of tea. Acting Head Marsden (for that was his name) came to the role of leader of our little group of frankly now thoroughly unnerved but somewhat relieved group of navigators, plus the pair of handservants involved too. All in all, we thought, it was a jolly good adventure. It had the heroes of Marsden, Martin, and myself, and the evil villains of the radio transmitter and the idiot that let the soya crop get ruined. Just like the stories of the great Imperial heroes we heard as children. Eventually the merriment of our little escapade wore off, and everyone went back to work proper. Except for me. 

I passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing two of these a day, and I know it's a bit much. But I'm legitimately enjoying this, and I hope all of you are too.


	6. Brighton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took longer to properly write this, due to formulating more of the coming plot and struggling with an unfortunate case of tonsilitis. Still, the plot is really coming together for me. Expect some longer chapters in the future.

"In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule." 

\- Friedrich Nietzsche, German philosopher. 

Upon waking, I found myself in my bed. Slung unceremoniously across the sheets, as is the fashion for returning a passed out crew mate to their cabin, although the passing out in question typically has a different cause. The high sun streaming through the window told me it was noon, or near as made no difference. Forcing myself upright with a groan, I found my hands and feet wrapped in bandages. Cursory inspection revealed the ever changing in demand gel that worked on damage to the skin, be it from burns, frostbite, or similar injuries. A precaution, but a frankly unnecessary one. I felt entirely fine aside from my empty stomach, so I discarded them and began to clean myself. 

Thirty minutes later I was dried and dressed head to toe in a new uniform, and I left my cabin to head first to the Duchess's study. I found it empty, and so reckoned that she had been told of the early morning escapades of the nav crew and went to either commend them or tell them off. I took my being allowed to sleep in as a reward in it's own right and headed for the observation deck. It allowed for telescopic view of both above and below, being useful for keeping an eye on the land. When I arrived, however, everyone there was crowded around the starboard side, watching below. I hurried over and strained to get a look, only to find myself lifted by the ever helpful Stormond. 

"There y'are, Ed. Good you came when you did, you'd hate to miss this." 

Below, in the distance, was Brighton. The coast was just about visible from here, obscured by the rising buildings and dark exhaust chimneys. Below we saw a sporadic and wispy exodus of the poorer classes of the city hurrying from it. Some had autocarts stolen from their workplaces or cheap homemade motorcycles, where riding them was risking your gentleman's area and everything below. The one common thread was that something had happened in Brighton, and it proved that we wouldn't have gotten a response from them either way. I'd heard rumours that things weren't quite right in the city for weeks now, but Imperial clamping down on news made sure that they were only rumours. Occasional flashes of still running machinery exceeding the temperature limit and going up in flames caused weary glances back from the fleeing crowd. It was then that I was set back onto the floor, to be met with the rather concerned face of the Duchess. 

"Edward, I was informed of what happened in the early hours of the morning. Firstly: never do that again, you foolish boy. Secondly, thank you for finding the cause of the radio issue and bringing the fuel problem to the proper people." 

I nodded my acknowledgment, having some pressing questions that I took my chance to voice. 

"Brighton clearly isn't... stable. Something's happened. But we need fuel, so... what are we to do?" 

She grimaced, looking to Stormond, to Brighton, and then to me. 

"We will need a team of people to go down and figure out what the issue is. Seeing as you're so fond of adventure and Stormond is... imposing, you two will be disembarking in Brighton to handle the refueling and potentially figure out what the problem is." 

Fuelled by my fear of what I had heard before, I spoke up before Stormond could consent for the both of us. 

"M'lady, there's a marked difference between climbing an airship with safety precautions in mind and going into an actively combusting industry city. Especially considering that people are fleeing. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but as a practitioner of running away, we usually have jolly good reasons for it." 

I proceeded to swallow my tongue there and then, realising that I had said that rather loud. I was angry that I was just getting handed this certainly more dangerous task, and honestly scared of the possibility of it being some great big rebellion, but I probably shouldn't have immediately raised concerns like that. Especially considering I essentially insulted her judgement in public. However, her answer surprised everyone present, most of all myself and Stormond. 

"Right, of course. Considering I am not a practitioner of that same 'art', I may well go down there myself to do it all instead. You can nurse your frail, well fed young body here while I go down and do your job." 

Now, in the span of one exchange I had gone from confused to absolutely panicked. That reaction lead me to believe that she was either in the know on something to do with Brighton or stock mad to risk her noble skin. Probably both. 

"Erm, I... no, m'lady, I'll go. I see the error of my-" 

"As I thought. However, I'll still go down with the pair of you. Heaven knows you need some encouragement. Go ahead and prepare yourselves. There are pistols in my study." 

She turned on a heel and walked off, leaving us in front of a very interested crowd. Stormond pushed me out of the room and to a hallway. 

"Ed, what is in that daft head of yours? Are you trying to test her already generous patience?" 

"Listen, man. I'm not sure you know, but I've been hearing things about Brighton. 'Specially since I've been more fortunate with postings than most. I just wanted to see if she would... confirm these things for me." 

I happened to be lying through my teeth. Not a good moment by any measure of the margin, but at the time it seemed better to be seen as smart and limit pushing rather than scared and cowardly. Either way, Stormond eased up and accepted my explanation. 

"Could've been more discreet. Either way, now we've her to deal with. Hope that gives you your answer." 

He lumbered off, leaving me alone in the corridor with my barely intact pride and the prospect of going down into whatever that city held for us. I understood the true reason for us being picked, of course. We were the few people that could actually be spared to go wandering out away from the airship. The Duchess was really only here as a figurehead to keep order, myself and Stormond were handservants that were technically personal. We didn't actually serve any role in keeping the beast afloat. At least, I reckoned with myself, we didn't yet. I walked off from the hallway and to my room, intending to ready myself for my first trip to land in eight days.


	7. The Dock.

"Is man merely a mistake of God's? Or God merely a mistake of man?" 

\- Friedrich Nietzsche 

I found myself standing next to Stormond in the study of the Duchess, both of us having put on the closest we could find to combat leathers, just in case. The Duchess herself, who now insisted we call her Markelia for reasons of anonymity, was in actual combat leathers and presented us with a box. Sliding it open revealed six handguns of differing make and function. The first two were clearly semi automatic models, one from the former Americas and the other from the Belgian anarchy, before it was... well, the Belgian anarchy. The rest were revolvers, much more common due to the reliability and the cost of designing new semi automatic handguns for the army far outweighed the benefits of merely updating the tooling of something we were already familiar with. Markelia took the American semi auto and gestured to the rest."

"Your pick. Second from the right has no hammer mechanism, so only choose it if you want a most certain death." 

Stormond chose first, picking the great big revolver at the very end. 

"A Colt Walker. A large gun for a large man. Ammunition is rather scarce, however. I commend your pick." 

He nodded and stood aside to inspect it, the name and make registering with neither of us. I considered taking the other semi automatic, but the first revolver caught my eye. In my previous posting, I served an old commander who had a love of logistics and of military history. He showed me a handgun used in the Great War, which looked exactly like this one. Gripped with some inexplicable link to it, I picked it up. 

"A Webley Mk VI. An interesting choice. The ammunition for it is still in use, so there'll be plenty of it. Good for both of you. Now, any matters that need taking care of before we dock?" 

I shook my head, as did Stormond. 

"Very well." 

She started walking, as did we. It was a short trip to the lobby, and we had nothing to do there but wait and watch the Moderna drift closer to the skyport. There was predictably no one at the other end to help with the docking, so we had to jump from the ship to the platform and dock her ourselves. I went first, taking a running leap out of fear moreso than athleticism and landing well clear of the edge of the platform. You really could probably jump from the doorway itself and make it, but I did not want my obituary to list stupidity as my cause of death. The leap had cost me a scraped knee and hurt palms, but nothing serious. 

Markelia came next, jumping and landing easily enough, if evidently a bit lopsided. Better showing than myself, but she had the nutritional benefit of being rich, which allows you the full diet one needs to do things like this. Lastly came Stormond, who nigh on just stepped out forcefully. All three of us being across, we immediately began the actual docking process. Supports were extended, fuel lines were connected, and everything seemed to be going well. We left it to fill the tanks that weren't in use, due to the issue with funneling fuel into a tank actively being used by the engine. It was going so well, in fact, that we failed to notice the door having opened at some point in the last ten minutes. 

I heard a shout from Stormond about someone behind me, and then I felt a tremendous whack to my head. I fell to the ground and the world seemed to run away with me, the only things I saw being the same happening to Markelia and a struggle underway with Stormond. Soon, everything faded to black. 

When I regained consciousness I was barely able to open my eyes. I was being dragged through a street in Brighton, which was now the very definition of Chaos. There were fires scattered across the ground, with piles of both bodies and machinery scattered everywhere. Some were dismembered in horrid ways as though they were butchered. Or prepared for a ritual of sorts. We passed a crowd being preached to by a man in a mismatched outfit of noble clothing and worker's garments. He held a book in his hand, and when he read from it, I recognised what it was and how he had gotten it. It was the writing of a pre anarchy German, Nietzsche, named the Gay Science. The crowd hung onto every word, desperate for this new and forbidden knowledge. 

"God is dead! God remains dead! And it is we that have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world hitherto has owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off of our hands? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?" 

He threw the book to the side. His apparent disgust with it's content was clear, although not for the reasons I thought. 

"If God is dead, then we shall create a new one! One of humanity, of the flesh! I have shown you my proof, and shown you what I need! We will not be gods, we will be the creators of gods!" 

The crowd, now ravenous and overbearing, surged into the building behind him, also dressed in that strange class bridging of uniform. It was all I got to see and hear, as I was pulled into a separate area. My head knocked off of each step as I was dragged down a set of stairs, evidently into a basement of sorts. I was chained to a great fuel pipe and left to marinate in my own weakness and blood. My head was pounding, my eyes refused to focus, and I could feel something running down my back. I wasn't able to think on what I had heard, or where Markelia and Stormond were, nothing. I hadn't noticed the other prisoners kept down here. I only could try my best to stay conscious. Eventually, even this failed me, and I passed into the black again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is slowing down a bit as I incorporate different elements. Much of my inspiration comes from philosophy, and I am also looking to try and end up capturing a certain element of restrained chaos. The Empire won't collapse, but it's hold will become increasingly negligible. Also have some exposition cropping up in the next couple of chapters, so keep an eye out. (Also yes I love Nietzsche's writings lmao)


End file.
